


In a Name

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-13
Updated: 2006-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam and Dean think about names and their history





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

In a Name

Title: In a Name  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Rating: ADULT  
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Warnings: Dub-con, incest, vauge allusions to religion, slash, and also I'm trying something new. Concrit is welcome.   
  
  
  
  
  
Let me tell you a story about a man and his horse. No wait, that’s a different time.  
  
Let me tell you a story about names and perceptions. Yeah, that’s it.  
  
Start.  
  
Samuel Winchester likes to think about names when he’s bone-tired. When he hasn’t slept for 2 days, when he feels as if he’ll become fused to the Impala on some lonely highway with Black Sabbath in the background, Dean driving like a maniac. When the scenery starts to blend together in a wash of greenbrownblueblacktop. Yeah, then.  
  
His own can be split into Sam and Sammy and he wonders sometimes who those two people are. He can divide his childhood-if one could call it that- into Sammy and sometime around 14 it became Sam. From there, is nothing. Samuel is just a glyph on dainty, cream colored paper. Paper can burn easier than flesh and bone. He should know.  
  
He thinks about the history in a name, in the history of theirs. He has name for every year of his age, and then some, with his bland smile and bad hair staring back at him at various ages on his driver’s licenses. Most are expired, save for five. They’ll have to make more soon, when they have time. Some things can’t be rushed. Like now.  
  
Sam has names for every year of his life and he can remember them all.  
  
Sam wonders, if in a century, if any of what they do will matter. He doesn’t think there would be as record of any of the Winchester men starting with John and ending with him because they move in shadows and disappear like quicksilver from people’s memories. They are the fog on a hot summer morning. They exist but don’t.   
  
Sam thinks about how myths are created. Take an acorn that fell on a guy’s head who had a good idea and you have the basis for a world-wide religion. Names are symbols, eternal. Or not. There’s irony in there somewhere, he muses. Maybe.   
  
Click.  
  
Dean doesn’t have the reservations Sam does about names and futures and fake i.d.s. It was just one more thing different about them. So when he orgasms, calling Sam’s name, Sam just sucks in a breath and remembers.  
  
Remembers when he was 16 and Dean snuck into his room and kissed him and he kissed back, not saying any names since names are meaningless until you give them meaning.  
He moans and a thrust up into Dean’s hip makes this more real since he thinks he’s dreaming and rubs against Dean and then, comes all over Dean’s thigh.  
  
Remembers when Sam was 18 and leaving for Sanford, and says the name over and over in his head, since it means freedom-hope- **future** -normal. Dean just pushed Sam up against a wall in the crumbling apartment after John had gone out to the nearest bar. Dean didn’t say a thing, Sam didn’t say no when Dean pushed into him slick with spit. There was no point. Dean came first but he came harder. Sam wanted normal but he still loved Dean, which is what Sam hopes Dean tries to tell himself later. He tries not to feel guilty.   
  
Do over.   
  
Dean Winchester has thousands of names tucked away in his memory. He tries them on like new shoes, role playing the different people he’ll never be. Dean doesn’t think about the names themselves, he thinks about the real people behind real names his have help saved. He thinks about the diverse demons and monsters his names have destroyed.   
  
Dean is proud of his names, of the things he’s done with them. No, really, he is. He doesn’t think that much about the name on his birth certificate, since while it’s the same name, it isn’t the same person. Dean Winchester died and was reborn in a fire when he was four. There’s nothing else to it. Except the mission.   
  
Dean never thinks about the future farther away than the next 5 hunts, and certainly not about centuries beyond and ahead of him, that he’ll never experience.   
  
He thinks about the web of lives that will continue, will sprout of more braches, and will last. In a century or more, the only thing that will matter is that he saved lives. He is content with this. And so he hunts.   
  
Dean has names for every year of his life and he can remember them all.  
  
Dean remembers falling in love with his brother when Sam was roughly 10. Remembers the way Sam would smile every now and then at the smallest things, like eating carrots and reading books from the library. His eyes could have brightened up the darkest cave.   
  
Six years and six shots of Tequila courage racing through his veins later, and he stumbles into Sam’s room and onto his mouth, silent except for sounds of teeth on teeth and wet sucking. Sam kisses back and he’s on Sam and Sam rubs and rubs on him until he comes. Dean finishes himself off.   
  
Except right now Sam is silent as he comes. Dean finishes himself off. Nothing really changes except for appearances. He’s not sure how he feels about this.   
  
Dean remembers when Sam left for Stanford. Remembers that after Dad and Sam were done yelling and Dad went off to comfort himself with drink at some bar, he pushed Sam up against a wall and fucked him. He didn’t ask but Sam didn’t protest either. He knows he came first, which was new but Sam’s lasted longer. He tries not to think about metaphors. Sam loved him but wanted to be normal more, which burned more than when his house went up in flames. He tries not to feel guilty.   
  
Stop.   
  
Together, the brothers Winchester have thousands upon thousands of names and they loathe and love the names with equal share.   
  
The brothers Winchester have a love that festers like an untreated wound and one that is pure as new fallen snow and still tainted with the hatred only blood can produce.   
  
They dream and think and save the lives they can’t live. They can’t stand their story.   
  
They are the story.   
  
  
End.


End file.
